


Sick & Tired

by Edie_Sunshine



Series: Just Two Guys [21]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edie_Sunshine/pseuds/Edie_Sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chibs is sick, Juice looks after him. Sort of. Well, he would, if Chibs would let him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick & Tired

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful Spacebabe, the hardest working, longest suffering beta in the history of slash.

It's two a.m and they're still forty miles from Charming, when the headlights up ahead go from bright to blinding, and Chibs' exhausted eyes struggle to make out the road before him. He pulls in at a service station and claws his brain bucket off before he's even got the kickstand down. He thinks of his blue-lensed glasses, crunched underfoot in the parking lot at TM the other night. Shit.

 

'Chibbie? Hey, what's up?' 

 

Juice's voice is overloud in the echoing space of the service station. Even the hum of the petrol pumps seems too loud, and the smell of fumes balls, like phlegm, in Chibs' throat. Juice's hand makes a little island of too-much-heat in the middle of his already sweat-slick back, and it feels heavy enough to squash him flat. He'd shrug him off if he had the energy. 

 

'I'm alright. Just give me a minute.' Chibs manages to get off his bike without kicking the damned thing over, staggers to the grass verge where the fumes aren't as strong, and plonks his arse down on the scrubby grass before he just falls onto it instead. He breathes deep and tries to think of anything but the heat, the smell, the pulsing brightness of the lights.

 

Juice's feet appear in Chibs' line of vision, and then the rest of him, as the lad squats down before him. He's holding a plastic bottle in one hand, shaking it hard, and then unfastening the cap little by little so it won't fizz up. 

 

'Here. This might help till we get home.' Juice hands the bottle over. 

 

Sprite, warm from the bottom of Juice's knapsack, and shaken till it's flat. Fucking horrible. Chibs takes a mouthful, swallows carefully and it doesn't come back up again. Thank fuck for that. 

 

'Just take little sips-' Juice's hand hovers before Chibs, like he's gonna take the bottle back if Chibs doesn't do as he's told. Chibs just turns his body away, takes sip after sip and some of the buzzing dies down. 

 

'I told you not to eat that candy bar...' 

 

Here we fucking go, Chibs thinks, rolling his eyes and instantly regretting it because the world lurches on its already unsteady axis, and the irritating buzzing sound cranks up to hive swarm intensity.

 

'Oh shit! Hold up, hold up-' Juice reaches out, fingers pushing Chibs hair off his face just in time. 

 

Chibs really does not mean to puke on Juicy's boots. 

 

'Ohhhh.... Seriously, man?' 

 

Chibs reaches out and pats the lad's knee in apology. He rinses his mouth out with some more of the flat soda. 'Relax Juicy. Ain't a migraine. I'd know if it was.' He takes his time straightening back up again, just in case. 

 

'Yeah, right, Chibbie.' Juice straightens up and starts scraping the side of one boot along the kerb in an attempt at getting rid of some of the puke. He nearly wobbles into the road. 'Your mom said-'

 

Chibs reaches up, grabs Juice's arm, helps him balance while he does his little kerbside dance routine, wriggle- scrape- scowl, wriggle- scrape- scowl. 'Never shoulda passed you the damned phone...' 

 

Once, just once, Chibs had let Juice speak to his parents on the phone, and now, his mam calls Juice first to get the incriminating facts, and then has the lad pass the phone to Chibs so she can tell him off for all the things Juice told her about. Now, his mam knows he never wears the thermals, or takes the vitamins she posts him. And, Juice knows way more about Chibs than he was ever planning on telling him. Including, that occasionally, Chibs gets the odd migraine, and usually it's after he's eaten too much chocolate. No big deal, Chibs hasn't got much of a sweet tooth, but today he'd been starving and it was a Snickers or nothing, so. 

 

Juice finishes with one foot, switches around, swapping hands over in Chibs' grip. 'Christ babe, it's all in the laces...' He pauses, looks around at Chibs, his expression switching from pissed off to something else. 'You think you're okay to ride? I mean, we can stay somewhere and-' he looks around as if he's hoping the petrol station's gonna sprout a motel out the back, but no such luck.

 

'Be alright. Had mah flat lemonade, so...' Chibs has no idea why it works, probably mind over matter. His vision's all screwed up, like the world's been filtered through a fish tank, and every object he looks at seems to have grown itself a little halo, but he can still get home, easy. He gives Juice's arm a little tug as he heads back to his bike, feels a pull as Juice hesitates, probably to scowl at his boots some more, and then Juice gives up and lets himself be led.

 

&&&

 

Juice rides side by side with Chibs, keeps the guy on the side closest the curb and spends more time watching him out the side of his eyes than he does watching the road. 

 

Even in the pitch dark, he can make out each wince that flickers over the other man's face whenever headlights appear up ahead, and again as each car or truck goes screaming past. He's never been so glad to see the signs welcoming them back to Charming.

 

Juice bundles Chibs off his bike and into the house, the other man shrugging him off when they get indoors. Chibs staggers up the stairs, leaning heavily against the wall for balance, and Juice kicks his scuzzed up boots off, leaves them outside the back door.

 

He finds Chibs curled up on the bed, still dressed, head buried beneath his pillow. The bedroom light's switched off, but the outside lights of the house backing onto theirs are on, bathing the room yellow. Juice leans over the bed and tugs the shitty curtains closed as best he can. There's still a gap at the top, a long triangle of light stretching across the bed.

 

'Babe? Here, let me-' It's a struggle to get Chibs out of his jeans and his jacket, guy's heavy as a lead weight and only half as cooperative. 'Jesus, man, stop fucking fighting me!' Chibs shoves Juice off and collapses into his pillow, arms cradled around his own head in an effort to keep the light out. 'Such an asshole when you're like this...'

 

Juice pads back down the stairs and out into the cold of the garage. Duct tape. Hm... He takes it back upstairs, climbs up onto the bed and across it to the window, uses the tape to stick the two sides of the curtains together as best he can, and then steps down. Now, all but the tiniest sliver of light has been pushed out, and the room is as dark as it's gonna get. 

 

Juice finds the bottle of Excedrin he keeps tucked away in the medicine cabinet, shakes two into his palm and fills the beaker on the shelf with water.

 

'Chibbie? Come on, man, sit up an' take these.' No reply. He reaches out to prod at the Scot's arm and just gets shoved off. He hears something that sounds like it might be 'fuckoffithurts' and Chibs says nothing more. Jesus fucking christ. He leaves the pills and glass on the side, tugs off his own jeans and cut, goes to brush his teeth. 

 

Chibs really needs to take those fucking pills, but of course, he won't. He'd rather kid himself that he doesn't need them, it's not a migraine. Like admitting that he's in pain, or got something wrong with him makes him less of a man or some other bullshit. Total denial.

 

When Juice crawls into bed, he finds Chibs is completely out of it, face mashed into the pillow, arms loosening around his head now he's not having to shield his eyes from the light. The guy's sprawled across most of the bed, one knee and one arm encroaching on Juice's side. At times like these, they really need a bigger bed. 

 

Juice tugs hard on the duvet, ends up with a corner and not much else. He gets up, puts his sweater back on before ducking back under his allotted portion of duvet. He waits for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark, watches as Chibs' outline comes into view. Even from across the bed, Juice can see the guy's trying not to move for fear of making his head worse. His breathing is shallow to the point where his body's barely moving at all. 

 

Back when he first learned that Chibs got migraines, Juice found this online site for migraine sufferers, one of those support group message board thingies, and he read a bunch of stuff that made him pretty fucking glad he doesn't get them himself. He read about people seeing weird stuff and hurting all over and being all sad and in pain for days and days afterwards. He even read about this one chick who said her bed sheets felt like sandpaper. It all fits in with how Chibbie is when he's like this, the way he kind of shrinks away from everything. Juice would love to just be able to cuddle the guy close, tell him it'll soon be over. He knows not to even try. He'll only make it worse.

 

&&&

 

Chibs' head feels like there's a ten foot nail driven through it, right behind his left eye, and if he moves even an inch, the room spins like a top and his entire skeleton has a good sulk. There's a whining, buzzing noise, straight through his skull like a dentist's drill. 

 

It's too damned hot. He can't find a cool bit on his pillow, or on the mattress. He risks the inevitable skeleton sulk to slide one hand out in the hope of finding cool cloth, and instead comes up against resistance. A warm body, covered in fabric. Shite.

 

'Juicy.' He gives the body a shove with one hand and Juice starts into life again.

 

'Huh? Baby, you okay?' Whadda you need?' Too, too loud.

 

'Juicy, fuck off to yer own bed, eh?' Chibs succeeds in pushing Juice out of the bed and then he can spread   
out a little. 

 

'Right, so now this is your room...?' Juice clambers out of the bed. 'Hey, take your pills, okay?' He stomps off, but he pulls the door shut behind him like there's a baby sleeping in the room, rather than a biker just acting like one. God love the lad.

 

It's true, that side of the bed is too warm now after Juice lay there, but it's better than nothing. And, it's quiet without Juice's snoring.

 

Chibs concentrates on opening his eyes a little without actually engaging any more muscle groups than he has to. He can just see the beaker Juice has left on the side, two little white pills next to it. Probably a good idea. 

 

Trouble is, the water's from the tap and even without going near it, he knows it'll be cold enough to jar, hurt his teeth, his head, even his throat as he swallows, and his stomach when it reaches it. He knows that the water will taste all metallic, and it won't stay down. He knows that the tablets will be chalky and will weld themselves to his tongue, and they'll have that earwax taste, and although the best medicine always tastes the worst, the stuff's fuck all use to him if he's just puking it straight back up again. He settles for letting his eyelids slip back down again, everything hurts less that way.

 

&&&

 

Juice finds the huffy room chilly as always, wishes he'd thought to bring his own pillow in here because the one in the bed is lumpy and horrible. Maybe without Juice there nagging him, Chibs'll give in and take his pills, get a reasonable night's sleep. It sucks, not being allowed to do anything to help.

 

&&&

 

An hour later, Chibs is still wide awake. That nail is still driving through his skull, and the room is like a merry-go-round. Every part of his body hurts, even his fucking hair. There are random pulses in his arms and legs, like the growing pains he got when he was a kid, and the bedclothes feel like sack cloth. And now, of course, he needs to take a piss. That's Juice's fault for force feeding him flat lemonade earlier on.

 

He slides out of the bed as slowly as he can, the room lurching with his every movement. Standing up is just asking for trouble so he settles for crawling to the bathroom, pauses every few steps to give the spinning time to slow. Every movement makes something protest, if not his arms then his legs, if not his legs then his back or his neck, and through it all, his skin and the flesh beneath protest even if he doesn't move. They complain about the shifting of cloth, or air or even nothing. His belly's empty but he still feels like he needs to be sick. 

 

The bathroom's only lit by the moonlight outside the window, but Chibs can see right away that it's not as it should be. The shadows up the walls aren't what they usually are, they move and beckon, curling and shifting towards him. A million, million swarming creatures. 

 

Chibs closes his eyes for a long moment. He knows what this is. It's not the first time his migraines have been accompanied by weird hallucinations. The insects aren't really there, they aren't really creeping closer. He knows they're not even hallucinations of insects, they're just shadows and his brain is whispering to him that the shadows could be something awful, the kind of awful that makes him sweat and makes him itch. He can, in fact, take a piss, unmolested and go back to his pit. 

 

Not real, idiot, he mutters to himself. 

 

He doesn't believe it for a second. 

 

It's always creepy-crawlies his stupid brain shows him, tells him he can see, even though he can't. 

 

Years ago, back when he was still in Ireland, with Fiona, back before it all went to shite, Fi had come upstairs one night, to find him huddled up in the corner of their bedroom, hands over his eyes, bawling like kiddie, and chunnering on about beasties in the mattress. Sensible lass that she was, she'd left him to pull himself together. Never said a word about it. 

 

Juice though, Juice had heard from Chibs' mam that chocolate gives him migraines, and flat lemonade cures them, and has stockpiled bottles of lemonade in the house, even keeps a bottle of it in his kit bag, just in case. 

 

The lad gets this careful, watchful look whenever he sees anything with chocolate on it. At Thomas' birthday party, he'd taken a plate of chocolate cake off Chibs, switched it with a bowl full of jelly and ice cream, and given Chibs such a glare that he'd really not wanted to argue. Jax had squinted a 'Really?' at him and Chibs had just shrugged, changed the subject.

 

Right now, he could yell, wake Juice up, tell him to come talk Chibs out of himself. If he does, the lad'll come stumbling in, still stupid with sleep, and look curiously around the empty walls, ask what it is that Chibs can see. Then, he'll huddle around Chibs, his voice all soft. He'll tell Chibs he's gonna be okay, help him back to bed, and sit with him till his eyes close again, carding his fingers through Chibs' hair. 

 

Trouble is, that won't help, because the whole time Juice is doing his best to look after Chibs, his voice will be drill-loud and about as soothing as nails down a blackboard, his fingers will be torture on Chibs' crawling flesh, and even the lad's breath will fucking hurt.

 

Chibs rests one hand on the wall, for balance, even though the imaginary beasties could crawl over it and up his arm. He focuses on steering his piss into the pan and hopes to god that Juice doesn't wake up and walk in.

 

&&&

 

Juice's alarm goes off at seven and he has a brief WTF moment before remembering that Chibbie kicked him out of bed last night and he's been sleeping in the huffy room instead. 

 

He clambers out from under the duvet, pulls on a pair of sweatpants, and taps on Chibs' door. No reply. He pushes the door open and finds the bed empty, sheets all coiled and twisted, the mattress exposed. If he had to guess, he'd say the guy had a restless night. 

 

He heads downstairs, finds Chibbie sitting at the kitchen table, cup of steamless tea, and an open tin of boot polish before him. Brush in one hand, one of Juice's boots in the other, shitty bathrobe, with the hood up, hanging open at the front, and a cigarette hanging loosely from his lower lip. The brush moves back and forth over the leather like a pendulum. Chibs' eyes are all drifty as he cleans the boots, like he doesn't even need to see to work. There's a smear of what might be boot polish across his wife beater. 

 

Juice comes closer, examines the already polished boot that's sitting on a sheet of newspaper on the floor. He can see his own reflection in the leather. No sign of vomit, although the laces are long gone, most likely in the trash.

 

Juice has often tried to imagine the guy as an army recruit, following orders from people he has no respect for. He can never see it. There are pictures of Chibs in his old army uniform, back on Jean and Jim Telford's hallway wall. He'd been skinny faced and smirking, like even then, he knew it was all bullshit. Chibs follows Samcro's rules because it's his choice to, backs Jax because he believes in him. Maybe the army taught him how to follow orders but it took a while for the lesson to stick. 

 

Guy had been fucking hot in his uniform, though.

 

'Fuck, man, you didn't have to-' 

 

Chibs shrugs. 'It's mah puke.' He's keeping his head very still, his face averted from the window and its watery sunlit view.

 

'Head any better?' Juice moves to stand beside Chibs, rests one hand on the guy's shoulder, gives it a gentle rub. When he doesn't get shoved off, he turns, shifts both hands round to the back of Chibs' neck, up the nape, where his migraine will have made it all tight with tension. 

 

'Yeah. Eased off after a coupla hours. Musta been the lemonade...' Chibs puts the boot down, slides one arm around Juice's hip, gives him a perfunctory brush over the ass and Juice wraps both of his arms around the guy's neck, presses a kiss to the top of his hooded head. 

 

'You're welcome,' Juice murmurs and the brush turns into a gentle slap.

 

'Go make me another cuppa tea, will you?'

 

Juice snorts, picks up the kettle and takes it to the sink to fill it. Finds the bowl is full of soapy water, something stringy floating amidst all the bubbles. Whole thing stinks of disinfectant. Looks like his bootlaces survived, afterall. Cool. 

 

'Army teach you anything else, besides first aid, and cleaning puke off boots?'

 

Chibs pauses for a moment and Juice waits for the inevitable punchline. 'Not really. Learnt how to clean shit off mah boots... An' piss... An' jizz--'

 

'Chibbie. I get it.' 

 

&&&

 

Chibs finishes with the other boot, puts it down next to its twin and thinks about decamping to the other room. It'll be darker in there and he can lie on the sofa, finish his new cup of tea and postpone the start to his day a bit longer. For once, some other daft sod can hold Gemma's purse while she fights with the keys to the workshop, he's gonna get to work on time today, not stupid- early. 

 

Most of his migraine has evaporated. There's still a shadow around his peripheral vision, threatening to crowd back in, and he's gonna be a fucking wimp for the next day or two, with random bits hurting, and everything being that bit too much effort, but so long as he takes it easy, that should lift eventually. 

 

That shitty workshirt of his is gonna feel like a hair shirt, though. Even worn and washed to threads as it is, the collar feels like it's got knives sewn into it. Chibs shudders at the very thought of it and although it's actually the softest thing in the world, his dressing gown is wiry against his skin. The top of his head is all sorry for itself, like his hair follicles have been pogo-ing, yanked themselves free of his scalp to leave it stunned and bruised.

 

Now he can look without the world falling on it's arse and taking him with it, he watches Juicy faffing with spoon and tea bag, all clumsy and sluggish, still. He's hunched up in his hoodie and sweatpants. Lad always feels the cold in the mornings. Chibs takes the cup Juice offers him and then he pulls him with him into the other room so they can cuddle up on the couch, Juice's feet like blocks of ice beside his own. 

 

Chibs pulls his dressing gown around them both, holds Juice close to his chest and rests his chin on Juice's head. He can feel his eyelids drooping.

 

'We sleeping like this?' Juice murmurs from somewhere near the middle of Chibs' chest.

 

'I am. You can just stay put.'

 

He feels more than hears Juice's chuckle, the word 'asshole' muttered into his wife beater. 

 

&&&

 

Juice snuggles closer, Chibs' bathrobe, soft around them both. His eyelids are heavy and Chibs' heartbeat is slow and steady beneath his cheek. He hates sleeping apart from the other man, never sleeps properly in the spare room. He knows though, that when hurt, Chibs is a bear, clumsy and mean. Thing is, the guy doesn't know he's doing it. In fact, he'd probably be horrified if he saw the way he was when he was like that. Chibs gets pissed off with himself for getting sick, or hurt. He thinks he should be the one doing the looking after, and then gets impatient with himself, takes it out on whoever's closest. He gets it from his old man, Chibs' mom says. 

 

A little while back, Chibs got cold-cocked over the back of the head by Eddie Diamonds, and even though he was unconscious when he was found, he refused to stay in the hospital for longer than it took to stitch his head afterwards. He was right back at the clubhouse like it was nothing, when actually, the guy's ears must have been ringing for days, and Juice caught him puking his guts up later on that day. 

 

When the guy got food poisoning from that horrible Tex Mex place that gives everyone the shits, it had taken forever to convince Chibs to let Juice look after him, that maybe Juice did actually know what he was doing, and that maybe a colonic wasn't something Chibs could actually do for himself.

 

Chibs' mom once told Juice that when Chibs had chicken pox at age six, he'd refused to stay inside, insisted on being out with his mates, playing football and getting into fights. Infected every kid in the neighbourhood. 

 

Now, Juice slides his hands up under Chibs' wife beater, finds warm skin at the small of the man's back. Chibs inhales sharply, so Juice guesses that his hands must be cold. 'Sorry, man.' He feels Chibs' hands sliding down into his sweat pants but it's good 'cause Chibs' hands are always warm. He hums in approval and fidgets closer, slides his knee between Chibs'. Nothing's gonna happen, Chibs is too tired, still fragile from his migraine, but it's nice to just cuddle and play. 

 

Juice sits up a little, presses a kiss to Chibs' lips. Guy tastes of toothpaste and tea. Better than puke and tea. He bats noses with him and then puts his head down on the arm rest beside Chibs' own so he can watch the guy drowsing. 

 

&&&

 

Juice's ice-cold feet are pressed between Chibs' calves and they don't seem to want to warm up. Typical. Chibs' skin always protests the cold after he's had one of his spells, when normally he's completely oblivious to it. He could quite happily shove the lad away right now, but since he kicked him out of bed last night, and was probably being a bit of a shit before that, he figures he should just deal with it. There are, after all, benefits to being over-sensitised like this. 

 

He wriggles his arms out of his dressing gown, cuddles Juicy up in it instead, shifts Juice until his feet are covered by the towelling. 

 

'Better?' 

 

Juice nods, eyes closing to slits. 

 

'Thanks fer last night,' he says and Juice smiles softly. Chibs gets his hands inside Juice's shorts, finds firm skin, tickle of tiny hairs, and Juice sighs against his face. 

 

'Feels nice...' 

 

Yeah, Chibs thinks, very nice indeed. He starts to explore, finds Juice's cock, nestling quietly. Juice huffs a little breath against Chibs' cheek, a frown creasing the space between his eyebrows, and his eyes flicker open as he leans in for another kiss. He sighs against Chibs' mouth as his hips slowly shift and his breath should just feel like anyone's warm breath, but it doesn't, Chibs is pretty sure he can feel every molecule drifting over his face, warm and moist. 

 

'You sure?' Juice murmurs and Chibs thinks, well, no, but it's better than just lying here with Chibs, tired and miserable, and Juice, cuddly and horny.

 

Juice's mouth is clumsy on Chibs', one tooth snagging Chibs' lower lip, and the brief pain is electric. Even without the migraine magnifying everything, it would have made Chibs gasp. Right now, though, it's like everything's wired up to his cock.

 

Chibs pushes Juice's shorts and sweatpants down to his knees, rolls him onto his back and ducks his head down to worry his tongue over a nipple, Juice's sweatshirt rucked up around his shoulders. The lad's skin is salty, and hidden away beneath the saltiness, there's the taste of the shower gel Juice must have used yesterday. Beneath that, is another kind of sweetness, what is probably Juice's own scent, a combination of all the health food and soda he consumes. It's a good thing sweet smells don't make Chibs feel ill when he's like this. If Juice had had a cup of coffee, Chibs would have had to take some time out with the porcelain goddess. 

 

Up above him, Juice gives a choked little moan, arches his back to get closer. 'More.' Chibs glances up from scraping his teeth over the peak of Juice's nipple, finds the lad is nibbling on his lower lip. Juice groans, almost punches Chibs in the head as he fights his way out of his sweatshirt and pants. He palms his own cock, his knees shifting to make room for Chibs between them.

 

'Here, gimme that...' Chibs bats Juice's hand away, ambles his tongue down Juice's cock instead, every smell, every texture, familiar but ratcheted up to ten.

 

If he looks up, he knows the lad's eyes will be wide open, that his mouth will be open on a gasp. He takes one of Juice's balls in his mouth, hums low and Juice gives a guttural 'oh fuck!' 

 

&&&

 

Juice feels like his entire universe is wrapped in soft heat, the vibrations reaching every inch of his body, getting hold of him and refusing to let go, just rising in intensity until there is no universe, just that hot mouth. 

 

He really doesn't want to come just yet. Or rather, he does, but he knows it'll be so much better if he doesn't. He reaches down to haul Chibs back up again, and their teeth clash together as they meet. Juice gets his arms and legs around Chibs, so their hips can rock against each other and he feels Chibs breath panting against his ear. Chibs is still wearing his shorts and the friction against Juice's cock is incredible.

 

'Hold on, let me up.' Juice has to shove to get their positions reversed. It's worth it, Chibs is dazed and flummoxed beneath him and Juice just has to kiss the grumpy expression off of his face. 

 

He straddles Chibs' hips, sits back on his heels and works on rolling Chibs' wife beater up the guy's chest until finally, Chibs takes the hint and pulls the thing off, loses it somewhere, and then Juice's eyes and hands are free to roam across the expanse of pale skin that ends in untidy tan lines, the decades of tattoos that have blurred and been painted over, changed or just forgotten. 

 

He runs the tip of his tongue down the centre of Chibs' chest, nips the edge of the guy's belly button and teases along the waistband of Chibs's shorts, hears Chibs' groan and feels the guy shifting under him. He palms Chibs' cock through the fabric of his shorts, loves the way the guy pushes up against him, the friction of cloth against his own naked skin. 

 

'Hey,' he murmurs, his hand paused on Chibs' cock. The guy's eyes narrow a little, then he groans, not a good groan, a pained one. Juice guesses that moving his eyes too much still hurts Chibs. 'Are you sure this is okay? I mean, you're still--'

 

Chibs doesn't roll his eyes or scowl, like he normally would. He just closes his hand over Juice's, says 'course.' He's so full of shit.

 

'What's it like?' Juice asks, ignores the hinting little squeeze of Chibs' fingers over his own. 'I mean, do you still feel sick, or like, does it hurt?' They're not doing this if it's not gonna be any good for Chibs. Juice isn't having the guy over-doing it and feeling like shit for days afterwards, he wasn't that much of an asshole last night...

 

'Nah...' Chibs seems to realise he's not gonna get anything more out of Juice until he's confessed. He shifts the hand he'd had squeezed around Juice's own, to Juice's knee, and the thumb rubs a little figure eight over the scar in the middle of it. 'Bit more sensitive than usual. No big deal.'

 

'Sensitive? Like smells and feelings an' stuff?'

 

Chibs shrugs. Okay. Juice can live with that. Sensitive could be interesting. He moves his hand away from Chibs' dick, lets his fingers drift over the guys hip instead, down the inside of one thigh and the guy sighs, legs fidgeting and then settling. Juice trails his fingertips up to the juncture between thigh and hip, the skin there vulnerable and soft and the guy's eyes drift shut, his chest shifting as he gasps in a breath. 

 

'Like that?' 

 

Chibs just moans. 

 

Well, Juice thinks, if you liked that, you're gonna love this... 

 

He follows his fingers with his lips and tongue, taking his time, letting Chibs' moans guide him. Normally the guy's pretty quiet, compared to Juice at least, and, normally, he'll pretty much only notice a heavier handed touch. It's fun being able to make the guy gasp and sigh just by trailing his tongue up the side of Chibs' ribs, into his arm-pit. 

 

'Just let me do this...' Juice tells him and, for once, Chibs doesn't bother arguing with him. Juice shifts downwards and finds that a swipe of his tongue to the back of Chibs' knee will make the guy groan like a porn star, and a gentle bite to the inside of his thigh will make him jack-knife into sitting, poor head be damned, and haul Juice close, mouth hungry on his.

 

&&&

 

If he hadn't had first hand experience, Chibs would never have believed that there can occasionally be an upside to feeling like shit. For one thing, there's the way shutting out all of that discomfort can help you to focus on something. For another, there's the Juice Nightingale aspect, and right now, the lad is being so sweet it would be funny if it wasn't so hot. 

 

He pulls Juice back down into the crumpled squishiness of their shitty sofa, so he can lie there, cosy and warm beneath him, catches one of Juice's chapped lips and flickers his tongue over it, feeling every little angle and edge. Juice murmurs something but Chibs really doesn't care what it is, he's more interested in getting the lad as far beyond speech as he is right now.

 

Juice's hands are ghosting over Chibs' chest, and where an hour or so ago it would have been horrible, now it just catches him off guard, makes him want. Juice's fingers crawl their way up Chibs' throat and it's all he can do not to start mewling like an idiot, warm and cool at the same time, every nerve ending begging for more. 

 

Some clue must show on his face because Juice smiles, soft and fond, and the lad sits up again to trail his fingers down the inside of one of Chibs' arms, follows them with his tongue, and holy shit, Chibs had never really thought about the inside of his elbow as being anything but just that, but right now...

 

Juice looks up, startled, then probably realises Chibs is quite happy with how things are going because that dappy grin floods his face again, and he leans forwards to press a kiss to the tip of Chibs' nose, daft sod.

 

'Hey. We gotta deadline, here,' Chibs says and Juice just rolls his eyes.

 

&&&

 

'Wait a sec,' Juice says and clambers to his feet, goes in search of something they can use for lube. He's pretty sure he remembers a tube of the stuff getting kicked under the refrigerator the last time they screwed in the kitchen. He has to use the end of a fork to jimmy it free, but it's still easier than going upstairs. He finds Chibs sitting up on his elbows when he gets back, holds up the tube and the guy bursts out laughing.

 

'Where the fuck d'yer find that?' 

 

'You really care?' Juice climbs back on his perch and Chibs gives a pleased little groan, rests his head back on one hand and uses the other to palm his own cock. 'Fuck!' 

 

Juice forgets what he was meant to be doing with the lube, his eyes drawn to the purpling head. Guy's hand is slower, gentler on himself than he normally is, barely touching himself and yet each stroke makes his breath hitch. Juice can't take his eyes off the sight, his own fingers twitching, wanting to join in. 

 

'Get down here,' Chibs murmurs, and Juice isn't about to start arguing with the guy. He leans forward and Chibs tongue is straight away, forcing its way past his teeth and he really can't think straight when it's like this between them. 

 

Somehow Chibs gets the lube off of Juice and then there are fingers toying at his entrance and it's so good that Juice can't help pushing back against them, and he can feel Chibs' grin against his own lips. Juice is hunched over like a jockey when Chibs slides into him and it's hot and it's deep and Juice really needs to come. 

 

&&&

 

Entering Juice feels like that first gasping slide into a hot bath when you're shivering cold with the flu, and the steam's rising up around you, and it's really too much but there's no way you're getting out again, and so you just deal and wait for your body to get used to it. And it does, and it's worth it, and you never want to leave.

 

Chibs holds the lad close, so their skin can stick together and lets Juice's rocking hips set the pace. Juice's forehead is resting on the pillow beside Chibs' own head and every pant of breath is accompanied by a desperate sounding little moan, right in Chibs' ear. 

 

&&&

 

Juice tries to sit up, put some distance between them, hold off the inevitable but that changes the angle and it's hard and unexpected, and Juice really didn't mean to yelp like that. Below him, Chibs' expression is closed, like he's million miles away, and Juice thinks that maybe this wasn't one of his better ideas. He presses one hand to the centre of Chibs' chest, says his name, and Chibs' eyes slowly crawl open, focus on Juice's face. 

 

'It's alright, sweetheart,' Chibs murmurs and Juice can't help grinning like an idiot on the rare occasions Chibs calls him that. One of Chibs' hands drifts up from where it had been resting on Juice's knee, to catch his hand, hold it where Juice put it, right over his beating heart. 'You close?'

 

'Yeah,' Juice says. 'Pretty close.' 

 

Chibs just gifts him with a soft smile, lifts Juice's hand to his lips and brushes a kiss over the knuckle. 'Well, get on with it, then.' 

 

Juice wasn't really waiting for permission but it's kinda nice being given it anyway. He shifts to sit back on his hands, and he feels rather than hears Chibs' gasp below him. Then, there are waves breaking over him, warm and heavy, dragging him away from himself and everything he's ever worried about, and he watches all of those worries drifting by. They'll come back in eventually but right now, nothing matters.

 

&&&

 

Chibs watches the flush creeping up Juice's body, from his chest, to his neck, then up his cheeks and ears, reaching his forehead, inching into his hairline, like a drink filling a glass. Juice's eyes are closed to lazy slits and he's keening softly as his orgasm hits. 

 

He’s driving up into Juice and holds the lad’s hips tight, keeping him in place. It takes no time at all for him to follow Juice over the edge, into a freefall that lasts no time at all, and then he's lying back, warm and sticky. Juice is still sitting astride Chibs' hips, leaning over to rest his head on the sofa back. His eyes are drowsy and crinkling at the corners as he watches Chibs regain his senses, and Chibs can't resist tugging him closer again, presses a kiss to the middle of Juice's forehead, Juice's breath panting little warm puffs over the sweat cooling on Chibs' chest.

 

Juice fidgets his way free, cleans them both up with what looks like it's probably Chibs' own wife-beater.   
Then, he nudges Chibs to the outside of the couch, so that he can wedge himself in against the seat back, where it's warmest. Chibs claws around on the floor, comes up with his dressing gown and he drapes it back around them both, makes sure he gets it tucked in around Juice.

 

'Wasn't expecting that,' Juice murmurs, pressing a kiss to the centre of Chibs' chest and then resting his chin there. 'You were pretty sick last night.'

 

'Nah... Bit of a headache.' Chibs shifts Juice around so that the lad's stubbled chin doesn't scrub against his chest. Juice can't grow a beard for shit, always ends up with patches of dark scrub and a funny little pencil moustache. Fucking itchy, though. 

 

'Jax'll be okay if you call in, say you're not well...'

 

Lad's an idiot. Well enough to shag means well enough to work. Chibs' internal clock tells him it's probably around 8 am. Time enough for a quick shower and they can be at TM by half past. He wriggles himself out of Juice's embrace, gets to his feet and has a nice stretch. Juice is lying there, looking up at him, all dazed-looking still.

 

'What?' 

 

Juice frowns, shrugs, crawls to his feet, pulling Chibs' dressing gown around him. 'Nothing.' Juice presses a kiss to his shoulder, heads for the stairs.

 

'Hey.' Chibs grabs a hold of the dressing gown belt, uses it to yank Juice back and then nearly falls on his arse when Juice crashes into him. Juice looks either worried or pissed off, Chibs has no idea which. He slides his hands around Juice, under the dressing gown, pulls him close. 'Just a headache, nothing for you to worry about, alright?' 

 

'You were a dick last night. You know that, right? If you'd take the Excedrin, you wouldn't have been as bad as--'

 

'Yeah, well, I don't like taking that shite, so...' Chibs shrugs, keeps his arms wrapped tightly around Juice and he feels the moment the lad just gives up, lets it go and realises Chibs is right and it's not worth arguing about.

 

'Okay...' Juice murmurs, his breath warm on the side of Chibs' neck, and then the lad shifts to cup Chibs' chin in his hand, whispers a kiss over his lips, pulling back again before Chibs has a chance to deepen it. Juice is chuckling like he thinks he's just got one over on Chibs. He backs away and this time, he tugs the dressing gown cord with him so Chibs can't catch him again. 

 

'I'm still getting Gemma to put you on light duties today,' Juice announces from the safety of the stairs. 'You go anywhere near an exhaust you'll puke. An' if anyone talks too loud, you'll start bawling like a baby.' Juice grins and takes off up the stairs before Chibs can argue.

 

Well, shit. Lad's probably got a point. Chibs hadn't really been relishing a day surrounded by growling exhaust fumes, dropped tools and staticky radio. Even the thought of one of the guys hugging him makes him itch.

 

He sits back on the sofa, thinks about having a smoke, but truth be told, the thought of it turns his stomach. Even his first smoke of the day had tasted like death, had to be endured, just because his body needed the nicotine. 

 

He thinks back to that night in Ireland, Kerrianne fast asleep in the drawer they were using as a crib, and Chibs curled up and snivelling on the floor. He remembers Fi standing before him, her pretty face by turns mystified and infuriated. He remembers the times he lied to her about how bad his migraine was, and she took him at face value, left him to get on with it. 

 

He remembers once telling her the truth. Told her about the halos coming in low and threatening everything, the shadows and the buzzing, the tilting of the world on its axis, the ogre thump of his own, terrified heartbeat, and how it hurt to breathe, and speak and listen. She'd still looked mystified and left him to get on with it. 

 

He thinks about Juicy, trying to tape the curtains together so the light wouldn't reach Chibs. He thinks about the way the lad's fingers had known precisely where the tightest knot would be in the back of Chibs' neck, the way Juice always wanted to know what Chibs was experiencing, so he'd be better prepared to help him. 

 

They're not perfect, together or apart, probably never gonna be, but Chibs can't escape the feeling that he's finally found someone who can see through his bullshit, put up with it, even like it. 

 

Upstairs, the shower's kicked in, boiler grunting and groaning under the strain. Juice'll have it turned up as high as it'll go, steam up all the windows upstairs and come out looking like a lobster. 

 

He gets to his feet, wanders back into the kitchen and fishes Juice's bootlaces out of the sink, rinses and wrings them, drapes them over the radiator to dry. 

 

On the fridge door, there's a picture Chibs' niece drew for them, sent enclosed with one of his sister's letters. It depicts a little brown house, four square windows, pointed roof and a red front door. There's a fenced in garden surrounding it and two clumsy looking motorbikes to one side, two men, both dressed in black, smiling and waving on the other side. One of the men has an over-wide grin and the other is hairless, with a funny black squiggle on either side of his bald head. He remembers laughing his arse off when he opened it, Juice demanding that it be given pride of place on the fridge door, shoving postcards and take away vouchers out of the way for it. 

 

Even though the smell of the stuff is wretched, Chibs gets the coffee out of the fridge, looks back at the instructions Juicy had left on the fridge for how to make a reasonable cup of coffee. He figures it's the least he can do.

 

End.


End file.
